


home is where the heart heals

by ShrimpZilla



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-06-20
Packaged: 2018-05-20 08:51:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5999725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShrimpZilla/pseuds/ShrimpZilla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-Trespasser, Cullen and Trevelyan start their family.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> written for the dragon age kink meme

“I’m out of tea,” Evelyn says offhandedly, leaning against the back of the chair he’s sitting in and sticking her fingers in his hair. He shakes her off, tries to fix what she’s messed, and glances over his shoulder at her.

“I had a cup earlier. There’s plenty.”

“No, Cullen, I’m out of _tea_.” He blinks. Oh, he thinks, the contraceptive tea. “And I was thinking,” she continues in light of his silence. He watches her bite the very corner of her lip, watches her eyes slide off his face. “Maybe I don’t need to make it anymore. Maybe--”

He’s out the chair in a flash, banging his knee against the table leg in his haste. “Evelyn,” he says dumbly, reaching out to grab her but stopping himself at the last moment. She watches whatever play of emotions is visible across his face with a tight, amused smile.

“I thought maybe this would be more of a conversation, but you seem responsive to the idea.” There’s laughter and relief in her voice. Cullen feels himself grinning, probably quite like an idiot, and when he reaches out this time he does grab her. He holds her round the waist and lifts her, spins her, laughing as if they were nothing but teenagers.

“Should we?” He asks when he places her gently on the ground again.

“Very responsive then,” she corrects but her smile is broad and her eyes are excited and Maker, he almost cannot take how much he loves this woman.

-

She’s visiting Dorian in Tevinter-- which Cullen does not like her to do -- the two mages going over some old tomes or new techniques or something that Cullen can’t wrap his head around. His head has been killing him, and the every damned letter Evelyn send seems to reek of lyrium, and if his sister comes over once more asks if he needs anything he swears he’ll explode.

He comes in from tending his garden, Captain thankfully in a rather sedate mood that likely comes from his ability to read Cullen’s discomfort. He is grateful to have the mabari with him while Evelyn is away. It makes him feel less terrible for having her go alone, but the idea of wandering the Magisterium is even less appealing than sitting useless at home.

He drags himself up the stairs to the writing desk where this morning’s letters remain unopened. His dreams have been filled with blood magic and demons and torments old and new. He thinks to leave them for another day, but the prospect fills him with dread. To have already left them so late could mean he’s missed some important news. So he rubs his eyes, exhales as much of his tension as he can, and tears into a letter addressed to him in Dorian’s sprawling script.

_My dear Cullen,_

_You sly, Fereldan dog!_

_Evelyn says I shouldn’t say anything because she didn’t know herself until I called notice to it, but your lovely, fertile wife has left so there’s no one here to stop me._

_Congratulations. I’m sure the little pup will be outrageously adorable and disturbingly good at chess._

_Your faithful friend,_

_Magister Dorian Pavus_

Cullen reads the letter twice, the second time in a rush to confirm that he isn’t misconstruing anything. He places the letter to the side, laughs, and picks it up again to read it for a third time. He imagines Evelyn on her way to him now, giddy with news and more than likely knowing that Dorian would have spoiled the surprise.

He can’t sleep a wink that night, but it isn’t nightmares that keep awake this time.

-

When Evelyn gets home he has to send Captain out into the yard before he can scoop his wife into his arms and carry to the bedroom.

“Dorian told you!” She exclaims but she is smiling and laughing and there’s not a trace of anything but joy in her. Cullen shoves the door to the bedroom open with his hip, he can hardly breathe from the excitement and his face hurts of smiling but he can’t imagine stopping. He lays her on their bed and kisses her finally, first deeply and then again light and fresh between her giggles. “Cullen, I’m already pregnant. We don’t need to try anymore.” He knows that she’s joking because her hands are snaked through his shirt, running over his stomach and chest.

“Well, I can stop if you’d like,” he offers, pulling away. She wraps her arms around him and keeps him close.

“Don’t you dare.”

He grins and trails his lips across her face and chest and stomach, leaning his forehead against her ribs and smiling into her skin.

He has never been happier.

-

She cries sometimes; because she misses her family, because she misses their friends, because of her arm, because she just can’t help it. She says she has nightmares more often now, and he wants to question whether they’re dreams from her time as the Inquisitor or if demons are plaguing her but somehow he can’t find the words.

He finds her sniffling over a book and they wind up making love. She falls asleep in the afterglow, sated and tired and nearly full to bursting with child, and Cullen sighs content yet nervous. He picks up the book that had gone forgotten on her bedside table, leafs through the pages until he finds the old ribbon she uses as a bookmark.

_“Ten years from now… a hundred years from now, someone like me will love someone like you, and there will be no Templars to tear them apart.”_

Cullen closes the book softly, carefully, his chest heavy suddenly with some unexplored sense of regret. The world is a different place than it was when he met her, but he wonders, painfully, if they were reduced to nothing but their most essential parts if they would be anything more than a Templar and a mage.

-

When she is born she is so small and warm and perfect. She makes a small, whining noise as she blinks into the too bright, too big, too new world around her. Evelyn looks up at him with a tired, accomplished smile. She is sweating and pale and there dark circles under her eyes but Cullen can’t remember a time she looked more beautiful. He kisses her temple, inhales the smell of her skin and her body notes how it smells different now as it mixes with the sweet smell of milk and their newborn daughter.

“She’s like a little bird,” he whispers hoarsely, tears in his eyes and a heavy emotion in his heart. He reaches out a hand and touches the down soft curls. “A little brown bird.”

“My mother has brown hair,” Evelyn says as she leans her head against his, “I forgot it was an option.”

“She’s perfect,” he says as if there is any question of it. “Little Grace.” It is almost too much to say, and his voice cracks on the name. Evelyn kisses his cheek and he turns so that he can take her mouth with his, laying his arm over hers so that they are holding their baby together.

-

Cullen tosses Grace into the air like she weighs nothing because she, essentially, weighs nothing. She screams in pure joy when his hands leave her and bursts out laughing when he catches her again. Her curls fly wild around her face, in her eyes, in her mouth as they play this never ending game.

“She likes you better than me,” Evelyn pretends to grouse later that night when Grace is asleep and they are fading quickly themselves. The Inquisition having been good practice for the long nights of little rest that make up this first year.

“Well, she’s the only one,” he answers dryly because he cannot find the generosity within him to deny the claim. “I certainly like you better than myself.” He kisses her neck, mouth open and casual, and is surprised at the breathy gasp that she makes at his touch. His stomach drops heat straight into his groin, and suddenly he can’t remember the last time they made love in earnest.

“Cullen,” she breathes, her voice deep as her hand tangles itself in his hair. He kisses fuller, with more purpose, drifting along her jaw and away from her mouth just as she goes to kiss him in return. He smirks when he hears her disappointment, rubs his stubbled chin down her neck and chest until he’s got her loose sleeping shirt pushed far enough out of the way that he can kiss her breasts. Just as he gets his mouth around her nipple, his hand up her thigh, Grace lets out a scream and they roll apart with curses on their lips. “She likes you better,” Evelyn deadpans.

-

“No! No! No, no, no, no, no!”

Cullen remembers the joy, the pride when Grace first spoke. The jokes about how much his daughter she was, the laughter as she used it loosely and freely because she could see how happy it made her parents.

Cullen also remembers a time where sleep and peace and quiet were not just things to hope for. Of course, Cullen has plenty of experience with that state of being.

“No! No! Nooooo!”

Evelyn drags herself into the kitchen, her eyes blank with exhaustion. She watches him pace with Grace, watches him rock her and hum to her and do everything just short of beg her to please be quiet.

“Give her,” she says flatly.

“I’ve got her. Go to sleep.”

“I can’t sleep through this.”

“Well, I’ve got her,” he insists, prickling at the implication that he cannot soothe his own daughter. Evelyn holds out her arm.

“Clearly you don’t.”

“Nooooooo! No! NO!” Grace screams, her face hot with tears. Cullen sighs brokenly against the noise, holding her tighter to him. After a tense minute where she doesn’t stop crying and Evelyn doesn’t stop watching he hands her over, defeated. He drops himself into a chair as Evelyn takes up the task of walking back and forth with the child.

He rests his face in his hands for a breath and then… there is silence. He looks up. Evelyn has Grace cradled expertly against her chest and upper arm while she spins wisps of snow with her fingers. The baby stares captivated, mouth open and hands grasping.

“Do you always do that when she cries?” He cannot help the irritation from seeping through his voice. Evelyn glances over, tired and drawn and not in the mood.

“Sometimes.” She shrugs as much as her position will let her. “It works.”

Cullen feels an anger simmering up from his gut, setting his teeth on edge. It is born of exhaustion and desperation and a deep seated sense of insecurity. He wants to yell and stomp and accuse her of any number of things that reach from a careless use of magic to making him feel stupid and useless and inadequate.

“What?” She prompts because she knows him well enough to know when he is stewing. He bites down on his words, knowing on some level he is just going to make a fool of himself and thinking on another that she wants to argue and he will not give her the pleasure of it.

“Nothing,” he grunts, heaving himself out of the chair and stalking off to the bedroom.

-

“She’s spoiled,” Evelyn says. Dorian waves her away and continues threading expensive silk flowers into her hair.

“She’s precious,” he contends. Grace giggles and twirls when he’s finished, showing off the way she always did when she had a captive audience. “You know, I think you take after your Uncle Dorian,” he says, reaching out with a conspiratorial hand.

“Maker help us,” Cullen jokes as dry as dirt.

“Uncle Dorian, Daddy’s teaching me to play chess. Would you like to play?”

“Sweetheart, your Uncle Dorian and your mommy have work to do,” Cullen explains. Grace thrusts out her bottom lip and pins him with pleading amber eyes. He shakes his head at her because, at least in front of company, such tactics do not work on him.

“Why don’t you and Captain play in the yard?” Evelyn suggests in her mother’s tone that meant it really wasn’t a suggestion. “I promise that we’ll work as fast as we can.”

“And I promise that I will play chess with you before my visit is over,” Dorian added, much to Grace’s delight. She loves Dorian because he was eager to give her her way no matter what Cullen or Evelyn had to say on the matter. Grace kisses them all before skipping through the house to gather Captain. Dorian leans back in his seat with a satisfied smile. Cullen wonders if he should warn the other man about the discrepancy between Grace’s skill level and her age.

He decides against it, and has to try very hard to hide his grin when Grace beats Dorian twice.

-

“Do you know what Grace just said to me?” Evelyn asks, throwing herself into the bed sloppily. Cullen opens an eye just enough to peek at her. He makes a curious noise in his throat. “She said she wants a baby sister.” Cullen snorts, still more asleep than awake. Evelyn draws circles on his chest with the tip of her finger. He shifts and grumbles, eye slipping closed. “It isn’t so ridiculous a request. I mean,” and Cullen suddenly feels far more attentive to the conversation, “I have missed my last three monthlies.”

“A baby sister?” Cullen asks, lifting his head from the pillow and taking her hand in his. He watches her face for a sign of a joke or a hesitation or anything. She smiles that tight little smile she has when she’s amused but trying to play serious.

“Well, a baby at least.”

-

Penelope is golden haired and golden eyed, quiet and prone to what Cullen views as introspection. She is easier than Grace, or maybe they’re just better prepared for it this time around.

Grace calls her Penny, because Penelope is too big a name for her to get out in her constant eagerness, and the nickname sticks.

Cullen is happier than he’s ever been, again.

-

Cullen is furious.

“I told her, Daddy, I told her it was a bad thing to do.” Grace is practically chanting, anticipating her sister’s punishment and clumsily hoping to get a reward. Penny looks up at him, face serious even as she stands covered in ink, challenging him almost to find fault with the way she has ruined the papers he has been working on. “Daddy--”

“Grace,” he says, hand coming to rub at his temple,” go to your Mother, please.” Grace can be spoiled and demanding and a bit of tattletale, but she listens and Cullen is grateful for that. He sighs and shakes his head and wonders at Penny who is so small to be such a big nuisance. “Penelope,” he starts in a steady, reprimanding tone. She blinks at him, unaffected. “You are not supposed to be in here, are you? You are not supposed to be touching Daddy’s important things.” She purses her lips and looks down, whether assessing her mess or in shame Cullen can’t tell. “You’re in trouble. I want you to go to your room and I want you to sit and think how much work you’ve made for Daddy. Do you understand?”

She toddles towards him, papers stuck to her feet and messing up her balance. “I love Daddy,” she offers, hugging his leg and placing a kiss as high as she can reach. She looks up at him with her wide, golden eyes and smiles. Maker help him. He squats down and takes her into his arms.

“Daddy loves Penny.” She gives him a wet kiss on his nose, a bad habit he thinks she might have picked up from Captain but nothing he feels too strongly about correcting.

-

“Maker, you’re kidding me,” Mia exclaims. “You’re like bloody rabbits, aren’t you?” Cullen’s ears go red but Evelyn simply laughs. In the yard he can hear Grace and Penny squealing as they chase unsuccessfully after Captain. “Penny’s only two! When did you find the time?”

“Can we not discuss the whens and wheres of my wife and my love life,” he grumbles.

“You’re all quite close in age, aren’t you?” Evelyn asks innocently. Cullen throws his head back and groans.

“Can we not discuss the whens and wheres of my parents love life.”

“Good point,” Mia agrees. “In any case, congratulations.” She reaches out and lays a hand on Evelyn’s not quite showing stomach. “I hope it’s another girl,” she confides just loud enough for Cullen’s ears.

-

Mia’s hopes go on answered and they have a boy.

Marcus is the spitting image of Evelyn. Cullen holds Grace and Penny on his lap as the girls investigate the newest addition to the family. He sees Grace wrinkle her nose at the baby and he whispers to her to be good. Penny yanks on his ear and sets him screaming.

Later, when Marcus is dozing against Evelyn’s chest and the girls are asleep half on the bed and half on him she looks over at him and smiles.

“Cullen.”

“Evelyn.”

“We have a seven year old, a two year old, and a newborn.” She pauses for effect. “Are we insane?”

“Probably.”

-

Their house is chaos.

It feels like a home.

-

Today is a bad day.

They happen less often now, but they happen, and they will probably always will. Evelyn keeps the kids quiet and the curtains drawn while he spends his day with the covers pulled tight over his head. His teeth jitter and his skin crawls and his head pounds until he wishes he could vomit just to get rid of some of the pressure.

Hyperaware, he hears the door to the bedroom open and cringes against the jolt of pain it sends through his skull.

“Daddy,” Marcus whines.

“Daddy’s sick,” Penny’s voice is low and watery.

“Shh, don’t wake him up,” Grace commands.

Despite the way it sends the room spinning he forces himself to sit up. He sees three little faces watching him carefully from the door. They look uncomprehending and a little scared and he wishes he could be the invincible father that they need to look to for strength and support.

“Daddy?” Marcus asks, looking on the verge of tears.

“Daddy’s fine, come here.” He opens his arms and the children charge. They jump onto the bed, and it charms him to notice that despite their energy they are trying to be careful of him. Marcus lays his head on Cullen’s chest, over his heart, Penny on his shoulder with her arms tangled with her brother. Gracie sits for a moment and watches, waits until Cullen gives her a smile before cuddling against his neck. She kisses his temple gently.

“Feel better, Daddy.”

“We love you, Daddy.”

“Love you, Daddy.”

Cullen breathes deep the warm feeling of them against him, and the pounding of his head seems distant in light of their love.

-

“Daddy.” Penny peeks her head around the corner, looking owlishly up at him. “Daddy, I think there’s something wrong with Gracie.”

“What?” He beckons her over, but the look on her face is true concern. “Is she in your room?” She nods and Cullen walks over, grabbing her hand without thought when she offers it. There is a sense of dread rising up his spine.

He opens the door to the girls’ room, and on instincts he didn’t realize were still so sharp, slams it again in time to avoid a stream of ice. He hears Penny’s breath hitch, a trembling noise coming from her as he tries to comprehend. “Go to your mother,” he says, though he’s certain his voice is anything but comforting. “Go,” he repeats when she doesn’t move.

“Mama!” She calls, uncharacteristically loud in her fear, and bounds down the stairs. Cullen takes a breath, steals himself, and opens the door again.

“Grace, sweetheart,” he says when he has it open a crack. Downstairs he hears something clatter to the floor. “It’s Daddy. All right? Daddy’s coming in the room.”

She is sitting with her hands pressed under her knees. She looks up at him when he steps in with eyes wide and blurred with tears. “Daddy, Daddy,” she keens. Cullen takes careful steps towards her and as Evelyn appears behind him Grace stands and runs passed him into her mother’s arms.

“Sh, sh, it’s okay. Everything’s okay. Mama’s here.”

Cullen surveys the damage to the room. The window is a sheet of ice, snow cakes the beds, and on the door a shard of ice is stuck deep in the wood. He looks over his shoulder at Evelyn, Grace sobbing into her shoulder while Penelope and Marcus hold tight to her legs.

“Are you all right?” She mouths at him. He nods distractedly and tugs Penny and Marcus so that Evelyn can take a private moment with Grace. He pulls his children against his chest as they cry in confusion from Grace’s crying.

-

“We knew this could happen,” Evelyn says for what feels like the tenth time. Cullen grunts for what feels like the hundredth. The children are asleep, tired from their strange and exhausting day. Cullen rubs his face with his hands and tries to get his mind on track. There is a nagging part of him that is pulling on his past anxieties, replaying the flash of ice magic that might have hurt him if he had been slower, knowing the dangers of magic untrained and unchecked. “Cullen, are you sure you’re all right?”

“Of course I’m all right,” he snaps slightly. “There’s hardly anything to worry about, is there? We’ll train her here, send her to school when she’s ready. She won’t be taken from us. She won’t have to worry about Templars and Harrowings and being spit upon when she walks down a street.” He doesn’t realize how loud he’s gotten until he stops talking. Evelyn is looking at him with eyebrows raised and face carefully screwed into a neutral expression, one that he remembers well from their days around the War Table.

A vivid flash of their arguments when she went to Redcliffe over Therinfal Redoubt.

It all makes him feel like a fool.

He hasn’t been a Templar in over a decade, but the guilt and the fear and the _Magic is made to serve man and never to rule over him_ still runs rampant over his thoughts.

“Cullen,” Evelyn tries. He crumbles, face pressed to her chest as she comes to embrace him. Tears burn his eyes. He shudders and holds her closer because for a moment he almost cannot be certain she is real. He is afraid, so afraid.

“What kind of a person was I?” He mutters into her shirt. “How could I-- If anyone were to-- Evelyn, Evelyn, our daughter is a mage--”

“And you aren’t a Templar any longer.” He quiets, soothed slightly by her voicing the thing he used to lay awake at night saying to himself until he passed out.

“I am so sorry for what I was,” he tells her as he pulls back to look into her face. She lays her hand against his cheek and smiles sadly at him. “If she knows, she’ll hate me, Evelyn. If any of them knew what a terrible, horrible coward I was… how could they ever look at me again?”

“You’re a good father, Cullen, for now that’s all that matters.” She kisses the scar across his lip. “And you’re still Grace’s favorite.”

-

Two years later and Evelyn gives birth to another little girl. Grace took the younger children to Mia’s and so the house is quiet now outside the sound of the hungry suckling of the newborn. Cullen sits himself on the edge of the bed like he has so many times before, expertly curls his arm around Evelyn’s shoulders, and looks down at his daughter with as much awe as the very first time.

“We really slacked off this time,” Evelyn says sleepily. “Usually we have a name all picked out and ready. Grace Lyn, Penelope Rose, Marcus Stanton.” The recitation brings a smile to his face. He kisses the top of her head.

“I… did give it some thought.”

“Oh?” He hesitates, his courage failing him at this tender moment. The little girl sighs against her mother’s chest and peers up at him with curious, dark eyes. It bolsters him.

“I was thinking, maybe, we could call her Cassandra.” Evelyn gasps and he tenses, body rigid with what he can only assume is a foolish mistake. “Only because I… I couldn’t have made it out of Kirkwall without her, and I never, never would have met you…”

“It’s so perfect.” She cranes to her neck to look at him. She beams. “Cullen, she’ll be so touched.” He ran a finger over the baby’s fat little fist, and his heart nearly burst when she grasped it with strength enough to honor her namesake. “Cassandra,” Evelyn repeats lovingly.

“We can call her Cassie.”

-

Grace spends a summer in Tevinter with Dorian, and it nearly kills Cullen.

“Dad, you’re such an old mabari,” she scoffs, a little embarrassed but mostly just touched by her father’s protectiveness. “Uncle Dorian will be with me the whole time.” But you’re only sixteen, he wants to argue, and the world is dangerous.

“That’s what I’m worried about,” he says instead which earns him an honest laugh. He marvels at the sight of her. Tall and wild haired, brave and honest and so eager to learn. She’s got her mother’s small smiles, but his eyes and when he looks at her he knows there’s nothing he can to keep her here. “You used to be my little bird,” he says wistfully, reaching out a hand to swipe a few stray curls from her forehead.

“Dad,” she groans then corrects herself and gives him a peck on the cheek. “I’ll be fine.” He hugs her until he feels her wriggling in his grasp. “Besides,” she adds over her shoulder as she turns to finish packing, “Uncle Dorian said that he’s already picked out only the best boys to introduce me to.”

“No boys, Grace!” He orders. He turns on his heel. “Evelyn!” He calls as he descends the stairs. “Dorian!” They’re sitting drinking tea and laughing back and forth at each other’s quips.

“Oh no. What have I done now?” Dorian drawls, leaning back in his seat and giving Cullen such a smirk that he honestly feels foolish for a moment for being such a typical father about it all. But the moment is short lived.

“No boys,” he says sternly. Evelyn hides her grin behind her teacup. Dorian rolls his eyes dismissively.

“Of course not. What do you take me for?” Cullen relaxes. “Gracie is far too smart for boys. It will have to be men.”

“GRACE SAY GOODBYE TO UNCLE DORIAN HE’S NOT WELCOME HERE ANYMORE!”

-

“Get your shield up!” Cullen encourages, knocking his own against Marcus’ with little real push to it. The boy nearly buckles anyway. “Come on, take a swing at me.” Marcus looks down at his sword, which hangs down so that the tip trails in the dirt. He is thin and gangly, too tall and all sharp edges but Cullen remembers being awkward at thirteen as well. The boy will fill out.

“Can’t you bother Penny with all this?” He groans. Cullen frowns. “Or Cassie? I don’t care about this stuff, Dad.”

“Is it really such a bother to spend time with your father?” Cullen feels petulant, but Marcus is good at bringing that out in him. He feels like he is drowning in his search for common ground with his son. Evelyn joked that Cullen was Grace’s favorite, and Cullen thinks it’s plain as day that Marcus favors his mother, but he doesn’t think that should leave them as strangers. Or as the enemies he feels like his son wants them to be as of late.

“It’s not like you’re trying to do anything I’m interested in,” Marcus gripes, but he makes the effort to swing his sword into Cullen’s shield. Marcus drops the sword as the reverberation of the blow jolts his arm. “I hate this stuff!” He exclaims, tossing down the shield as well. “Mom never makes me do stuff like this!” Cullen sighs and goes to tell him something about respecting his elders when he catches the flicker and spark of lightning between the boy’s fingers.

“Marcus,” Cullen tries to calm with an even voice. “I want you to take a breath.”

“What are you talking about?” But the electricity jumps from Marcus’ hands, bounces against Cullen’s shield and ricochets off harmlessly into the dirt. They both blink. Marcus holds his hands in front of him, not panicked but a little uncertain. His gaze flickers to Cullen. “Dad, did I hurt you? I’m sorry I didn’t mean it!”

“No, no, everything’s fine.” He pauses, flexes the fingers of the arm holding his shield. There’s a dull tingle but nothing more. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah.”

“Well,” Cullen sighs, “I suppose no more sword lessons are in order.” Marcus doesn’t try to hide his look of pleasure until he takes note of Cullen’s disappointment. He frowns a little and examines his hands.

“You know, I still like chess, Dad. We can do that instead.” They all love chess, he wants to argue, except for Cassie who can’t sit still long enough for a proper game. He wants something more than that with his son, he wants something that’s just for the two of them. Marcus kicks the edge of his discarded shield and sends it spinning.

“Only if you promise not to go easy on your old man,” he says instead of any of the objections that rise in his throat. He is lucky, he knows that, and he’ll take the moments he’s offered.

-

They spend the next Wintersend in Kirkwall, and nearly everyone makes it out for the celebrations. Cullen is reluctant, at first, to visit the city of chains, but Varric insists and promises them a vacation home, and in the end he wants to see everyone and so he relents.

For the most part, things go well.

Cassandra and Cassandra are inseparable. By the end of the festivities his youngest daughter has nearly perfected her noise of disgust.

Penelope spends more time with Varric than he would like. She’s the shortest of the Rutherford Clan and Varric seems to enjoy implying that there’s dwarf in their lineage somewhere. At some point in the night Vivienne compliments him on raising a girl who’s a natural to the Game. Cullen keeps a closer eye on Penny after that. He doesn’t need her getting recruited into some grand political game.

Marcus and Grace spend half their time bickering over magical theory and technique, but Marcus is better at theory, but Grace is better at application and so they quickly tire of each other and spend the rest of the night acting almost as if they don’t exist to each other.

“Dissonant voices, clamoring, clattering end over end. They drown out the other voices, blue music and purple words.” Cole pauses for a moment, and then peers up at Cullen from underneath his hat. “You’re happy now. Your hurt didn’t go away, but it’s all covered up.” He seems to think over what he’s said. Cullen lets him, less uncomfortable now than he used to be around the rogue. “I like you better this way. You’re smiling.”

“No I’m not,” Cullen corrects, because he isn’t smiling. Cole looks at him knowingly.

“You are on the inside.” Cullen doesn’t say anything, because there’s nothing to say. Cole watches him for a little longer before drifting off into the crowd. Cullen watches him go, watches his friends and family laugh and talk. Evelyn looks over and catches his eye, gestures him over to join her. Cullen smiles.


	2. grace.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen braids Grace's hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> was having some father's day feels so here's a lazy little chapter with Cullen being a softie dad.

Cullen enters the house with a sigh. This shoulders ache from the ride from Skyhold, his feet throb, his head slowing growing tense and pained. Evelyn is sitting in front of the fire with a book, the small swell of her belly neatly hidden in the overlarge shirt she’s wearing. His shirt. Suddenly the weight of the travels, and the work, and the discussions he’d been practicing in his head for when he arrived home don’t seem so pressing. His heart swells with the sight of her. The love of his life, a life he never thought he would have, and one he tries every day to prove he deserves. 

“You’re home early,” she says, turning to see him standing in the doorway with a smile on his face. “I would have had something prepared if I’d known.” She gestures at the threadbare shirt with its discolored collar and frayed sleeves. He closes the distance between them with swift, steady steps. He’s sweaty and he smells, but in the warmth of his home and the light of his wife’s eyes he doesn’t care. He is careless. What a change. He scoops her up and buries his face in the crook of her neck, drowning in the sound of her laughter. “At least I know you missed me!”

“So much,” he breathes against her skin. He feels her fingers at the back of his neck, toying with the curls that have fallen out of line. 

“Let me draw a bath for you.”

A few minutes later Cullen finds himself in the big brass tub Evelyn dragged from her old apartment in Skyhold. At first he thought it went against the aesthetic of their simple farm home, but he’s since come to appreciate it. He lounges in the water, magic warmed and scented with some fancy oil Cullen hates to admit he loves. It reminds him of Evelyn, of Grace, of the safety and comfort of home. 

As if on cue, “Daddy?” Cullen opens his eyes and sits up. He hears the floorboards in front of the bathroom as his little girl restrains herself from bursting in on him. He’s proud, and tired, and probably more eager to see her than she is to see him. 

“You’re supposed to be sleeping, Grace.”

“But, Daddy, I need you to comb my hair.” Her voice has the beginnings of a whine in it. Cullen wishes it bothered him more than it does. She’ll grow up spoiled at this rate, but he can hardly bring himself to care. “Daddy?”

“All right, all right. Give me a moment,” he sighs, caving easily. He climbs out of the tub and wipes the residual grime and dust with a plush towel. Another little luxury Evelyn has inserted into his supposedly simple, Ferelden life. The clean clothes feel like gifts against his freshly scrubbed skin. When he opens the door, running his fingers through his own hair idly, Grace is still waiting. Her curls are a damp, tangled mess that probably match his own fairly well in this moment. She opens her arms and he lifts her easily, thoughtlessly. Her arms close around his neck and she kisses him on one cheek and then the other before rubbing their noses together with a giggle. Cullen squeezes her and walks them to her room.

“Mommy isn’t any good at it. She combs too hard and it gets caught,” Grace complains as he sets her down and picks up the brushes and combs from atop her tiny dresser. He makes a noise to indicate he’s listening as he positions her on his knee. Her hair is a mess of tangles and knots. Grace has his hair, all tight curls and wildness. He picks his fingers through the worst of it as delicately as he can. “I like how you do it better, Daddy.”

“Mommy has a different sort of hair than we do, sweetheart. She doesn’t know.” He assumes missing an arm doesn’t make it any easier for her in that regard. He feels guilty for loving these moments between him and Grace, moments that they share with no one else. 

“I like Mommy’s hair,” Grace offers, tilting her head as Cullen lightly runs the comb through her hair. 

“So do I,” he laughs. The routine is well practiced and doesn’t take nearly as long as Cullen initially thought. Once the tangles are tamed he braids Grace’s hair into a thick, manageable line down her back. He pats the top of her head when he’s finished. She spins and throws her arms around his neck.

“Thank you, Daddy!” She exclaims a little too loudly considering how close her mouth is to his ear. He doesn’t let it bother him and hugs her back, kissing her temple with great affection. She moves her hands from around his neck to his hair, pulling at the drying curls with clumsy young fingers. He winces and tries to move with her movements while pulling her away. “I like your hair too, Daddy. When it’s like this. I like it.” 

“Thank you, Grace.”

Cullen smiles and lets her create more havoc in his curls.


End file.
